


Raise Me Up (Into the Maker's Light)

by Kydove



Series: Lavellan, Inquisitor, Hunter of Andruil [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character of Faith, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kydove/pseuds/Kydove
Summary: He believes in the Maker because she did, and now she does too. The world held to many mysteries, for that he was certain, and in this time of turmoil it was difficult to tell the truth from lies.





	Raise Me Up (Into the Maker's Light)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small glimpse into the mind of my Inquisitor, and some small flashbacks of his past. It's a short work meant to introduce my Lavellan, and ties in with a full length fic I'm writing to better detail his past.

_He believes in the Maker because she did, and now_ she _does too. His Gods were locked away, as missing as the Chantry’s Maker. Who was he to say if the Maker was not one of his gods? The world held to many mysteries, for that he was certain, and in this time of turmoil it was difficult to tell the truth from lies._

 _His faith gave him strength though. He believed,_ had _to believe; this world was too beautiful for there not to be a maker, or creator. He had been blessed to see this beauty._

_In the world…_

Ancient oaks and sentinels rise around, thick branches forming a canopy overhead. The wind whispers through the leaves, the sound mingling with the song of a blue bird. Bare feet pad over thick, centuries old mulch, silent as the hunter he is. The smell of damp earth and scent of wildflowers. This forest is his home.

_And in its people..._

Hair bright as beaten copper, the scent of lilacs on alabaster skin. Hands trace delicately over curve of generous hips, the shape different from that of his own people. Soft, as flower petals. The waters of the river shimmer around them, heat of the afternoon sun warming their flesh. This woman was his heart.

_Now the vision mingles with another, soft pale skin darkening into the defined musculature of a hardened warrior. Strong thighs encircled securely at his waist.Delicate features turn into that of a marble beauty, like a statue in Val Royeaux. The sharp profile of nobility. Royalty. A princess, though it would be the last thing she seemed at first glance. In that moonlit glade, the quiet wrapped around them, nothing between them but the night._

_In the afterglow, they speak softly of their past; their hopes and fears. He traces the scars along her torso, fingers dipping into the lines of her abdomen. One scar, angry and fresh, slashes along her hip. She looked at the world with the wonder of a child, yet she has been closer than anyone to its dark heart._

_He knew how difficult it was to pull yourself from that abyss, a place where all hope seems lost. He bore scars, just as she did, seen and unseen. A past of anger and anguish, he had come so close to losing himself in that black place; wanted to forget the past, and the feelings it wrought._

Hands reach out, hazed and confused. He feels used, and filthy. His blood slows, toxins in that precious water of life. There is no more use in fighting, the drugs making him weak. They now find it amusing: “He’s a feisty little minx.” Who is he now, but a plaything for their enjoyment?

 _He had caused pain too, once took pleasure in the anguish he could cause others. Months spent pillaging along the Waking Sea and the Rialto Bay. He had murdered and plundered, without a thought or care for the lives he was ruining. It had taken awhile, for him to come back to who he was, who he had_ been.

A Hunter, protector and provider, a truer shot than any in his clan.

_And what he should stand for…_

Truth. Justice. Love.

_She had shown him her world, a simple life, but one filled with happiness and family. A life lived in service to others, piety and compassion. He had loved her, in the short time they had, and she him. She had shown him her Maker, in a different light than he had ever seen. She had been a beacon. A bright life cut tragically short._

_She was so different, yet so similar to girl he had loved long ago. A pillar of strength and love. Her compassion knew no bounds, her spirit a tempered blade. Ready to defend the innocent, and the guilty. He knew she would gladly lay down her life to save another. Love, for all things._

_And in this world torn asunder, wars fought on every front, the very world as they knew it burning to ash, she gave him strength. She raises him to heights he never imagined: Herald, Inquisitor. In her faith he found his, and with her love he knew he would never be let down._

_She had allowed him to atone for his past, to right his wrongs. To protect the innocent and defend the weak. That was the greatest blessing he had ever received._

  
_He believed, because she believed in him, and in the end that's all he needs._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently in the middle of house renovations, but I'm steadily working on the full length work. Expect the first chapter within the next few weeks, if you're interested. It's writen in proper third person, and spans his life from the moment he receives his Vallaslin to his departure to the Conclave.


End file.
